


Buzz-Buzz, Fuzz-Fuzz, or Love in the Sonic Shower

by jamelia116



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Humor, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An answer to the challenge: "Why don't we ever see Tom Paris without his shirt?" and a sojourn to a place where even Tom takes it *all* off. Somebody had to do it. Might as well be me. Not quite a "Plot, What Plot?" but close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzz-Buzz, Fuzz-Fuzz, or Love in the Sonic Shower

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom are the creators and owners of Voyager, Tom, B'Elanna, and the sonic shower, too. I make no such claims. I'm just giving them a chance for a little good, clean fun.

Buzz-buzz, Fuzz-fuzz  
(or, Love in the Sonic Shower)  
by jamelia

 

There were those who preferred to waste their rations on water showers, virtually every day, without fail.

While B'Elanna Torres was just as appreciative of the virtues of bathing in water as most of her crew mates, she was not one to waste resources. When a suitable substitute was readily available that could provide her with a soul-satisfying, pore-deep cleansing that was absolutely free to her replicator ration account, well, that was even better.

Give B'Elanna a sonic shower any day. Even on the days when her duties in engineering conspired to coat her in the nastiest by-products of propulsion physics known to man, a stimulating session in the sonic shower made her feel completely clean and fresh. All of those vibrating fingers of sound swirled away the very deepest deposits of grit and grime even as they massaged every nerve ending in her body with wonderful waves of sound. What could be better?

Well, actually, there was *one* thing better:

A stimulating session in the sonic shower while the vibrating fingers of one Thomas Eugene Paris busily teased every nerve ending in her body with the most exquisite of tactile sensations at the same time that both of them were getting immaculately cleaned by the relentless buzz, buzz, buzz of the most sensual spot on board Voyager. In B'Elanna's not so humble, very prejudiced opinion.

Tom had zestfully immersed himself into the study of erotic massage techniques years before he'd met B'Elanna, and it was certainly paying both of them impressive dividends now. He'd learned his lessons exceptionally well--as was his wont any time he was motivated to excel because a specific subject fascinated him. It certainly helped that mastering said topic provided him with the reward of achieving orgasms that could make a Vulcan shout for joy. As far as Tom was concerned, that was plenty of incentive for diligent scholarship.

By that time, of course, Tom had also learned that as good as it was to experience a fantastic orgasm himself, coaxing an equivalent response from an excited and equally aroused partner made it even better. He'd once calculated that having his lover thrashing with wild abandon and lustily screaming her appreciation as he thrust her to the zenith of passion increased the power and satisfaction of his own orgasm by a factor of ten. At least.

One might say that Tom Paris had become a connoisseur of the art of love, forever seeking the ultimate in orgasms--for the object of his affections, as well as himself.

For the last few glorious years, the sole recipient of his largesse was Voyager's chief engineer, Lieutenant B'Elanna Torres, who was more than capable of returning the favor to the once Lieutenant, then Ensign, and now again Lieutenant Tom Paris. As a woman endowed with the formidable inheritance of the Klingon female's voracious sexual appetites, B'Elanna was just as dedicated to engaging in exotic sexual techniques as Tom. For starters, Klingon women possessed a degree of control over a certain set of muscles that females from most humanoid species could only dream about and many would willingly sell their souls for. In this area of expertise, B'Elanna's half-Klingon heritage was not an encumbrance. She eagerly embraced this particular talent and zealously practiced it at every opportunity.

As Tom had ecstatically confided to her after the first time they'd consummated their relationship--once he had recovered sufficiently to speak--"If you don't out-and-out kill me from love, B'Elanna, I'll be your slave forever."

"I'd rather not kill you. You're much too good in bed to waste," B'Elanna had replied. Leaning even closer to his ear, she purred, "But I'm warning you. I'll be working you very hard to keep you in shape for me, Tom. Very very hard. If you know what I mean."

He did. And the husky challenge in her voice provoked exactly the response she'd been hoping for, since it "stirred him up" for another round of tutelage in "keeping in shape," the B'Elanna Way. By the end of that first night, they had made the invigorating discovery that Tom and B'Elanna matched up remarkably well in the appetite department.

Never was this match up more in evidence than when they were engaged in sexual gymnastics in the sonic shower.

All this history was not going through B'Elanna's mind at that particular moment, of course. She was in the sonic shower--and she had company. As a consequence, she wasn't able to formulate any coherent line of thought. Rather, flashes of memory, squeezed between the ebbing and flowing of erotic sensation, fluttered in and out of her mind. She lived very much in the moment, as impulses zipped along her neurons over and over again, with every little jumping synapse whipping her into a greater frenzy, sizzling back and forth, from axon to dendrite, from one end of her body to the other.

And the sonic shower was having its usual effect upon her, too.

B'Elanna's pleasure was always raised to greater heights by the sonic shower's buzzing assaults upon her body. Waves of sound washed over her, lifting away every loose flake of skin, every smudge of dirt, and every dot of plasma coolant that lingered in her hair after the exertions of her day, even as they magnified the stimulation provided from other sources--like Tom's creative touch.

The sensitive flesh of her nipples tingled exquisitely from brushing against the masculine hair covering the epidermal layer of his torso. Each silken strand stood at attention, stiffened by the same vibrations pulsing over her body. Every square millimeter of her skin zinged winningly as the sonic shower worked its magic in microcosm while Tom nuzzled, kneaded, licked, and caressed her entire body on a much grander scale, and vice versa.

Tonight, the couple had already progressed beyond this sort of foreplay to the much more intense stage of intimate fusion. B'Elanna, her hands steadying her with their firm grasp on the sturdy bar above her, was perched on Tom's shaft with her legs wrapped securely around his hips. Tom, quite literally and very enthusiastically, was banging his beloved against the back wall of the shower.

With B'Elanna's spine securely propped against the shower stall wall to support her while he pumped in and out of her, Tom's fingers were freed to probe and pleasure her, driving her even further into a delirious frenzy. With every energetic bounce Tom grunted, B'Elanna moaned, and the duroplast wall of the shower stall rattled and clattered in complaint. On those rare occasions when his movements ceased long enough for him to catch a quick gasping breath, his mouth grazed her skin adoringly. Then he would pick up his implacable pace again, pounding his engorged member into the walls of her tight channel until the glorious friction brought her to the verge of screaming into his ear.

B'Elanna had once likened Tom's powerful strokes to the relentless drive of the pistons thrusting inside his holographic Camaro's engine. Right about now, B'Elanna's body had just about overheated, to the extent that she was feeling comfortable in Voyager's normal default temperature--even though it was a good five degrees cooler than she considered to be tolerable under normal conditions.

These weren't normal conditions. These were sublime conditions.

There was one other, very much appreciated side effect of the sonic shower. The stimulation of their nerve endings not only increased their pleasure, it also measurably increased the length of the time they could expect their mutual ecstasy to last. Expanded sensitivity. Increased responsiveness. Prolonged duration of the thrilling, throbbing, quivering, quaking rattling of bones and tissues before reaching the culmination of passion . . .

What was *not* to like about making love in the sonic shower?

Eventually, however, all good things come to an end--or at least, to an intermission. While both had plenty of stamina, tonight they'd already been going at it for quite a long time. The sounds coming from their throats, accompanied by the booming sound of sonic shower, were rising to the final crescendo. They were close now, so very, very close . . .

Since Seven of Nine had publically announced that "everyone on Deck Nine, Section 12" was aware of the nature and timing of their most deeply personal activities, Tom and B'Elanna didn't even try to hold back--not that they'd ever been very successful at holding back even when they'd tried. Everyone already knew the best sex on the ship was being shared right there, right that minute, in the quarters of B'Elanna Torres. Why bother to hide it?

Her screams and his shouts mingled with the rumbling roar of the sonic shower. Cries of "Don't stop! Kahless," and "Oh, Tom, now!" and "Oh, yes! Baby, Baby" were interspersed with heartfelt hymns of praise to a deity or two. Their resonating chorus of love traveled via the circuitry from B'Elanna's shower to those in the crew quarters located nearby. Any of her neighbors who were home taking a sonic shower of their own were treated to hearing exactly what Tom and B'Elanna were doing, as the couple reached the crest, then the zenith, and then, and then . . . finally . . . were past it.

Once their movements had ceased, Tom fell silent, a second or so before she did. The sonic shower still rumbled its melody along her backbone, but nerve fibers firing as rapidly and powerfully as hers had just eased off, becoming rather mellow. The pulsing vibrations no longer jangled her into lustful excitement as they had a few moments before. It was time for the sonic shower to return to its original and universally acknowledged function--cleansing.

B'Elanna released her tight grip around Tom's midsection as he straightened up enough to allow her to slide off what she had jokingly dubbed his "pylon of passion." Reluctantly, she touched her feet back onto the floor. Tom pressed against her, pinning her against the wall of the shower for several breaths as a modicum of strength returned to his limbs. B'Elanna felt a peaceful lethargy steal over as she supported his weight. Once his breathing returned to something approaching normality, however, she nudged him upright and separated from him so that the remnants of their lovemaking could be gently removed from their bodies by the sonic pulses. Tom, always helpful, thoughtfully caressed her in all the right places to insure a complete cleansing. B'Elanna graciously returned the favor.

As the last of the byproducts of their erotic activities were lifted away, she leaned her head gently against Tom's fuzzy chest again and breathed in deeply to gather in his scent. His true scent. No impurities remained on his skin, pleasant or otherwise, to mask the faintly musky, enticing smell of Tom Paris, pilot extraordinaire.

"Pretty good," she murmured.

"Understatement." Tom's mouth twitched a rather self-satisfied grin as he softly spoke the words, "End shower," causing the trembling pulses from the shower to cease.

"You're always so sure of yourself."

"With you, yeah, I am. Very sure," he said. "You make it so easy for me to love you."

She quickly looked up into his face. His smile was sincere, reaching all the way to his crystalline blue eyes. What else was there for her to do but kiss him?

=/\=

Wrapped in a big towel, B'Elanna strolled towards her bed. Flopping down on top of the covers, she stretched contentedly and called out to her companion, "So, are we going to the beach party at the resort tonight, or not?"

"I don't know. Are you in the mood for a swim?" His disembodied voice echoed out of her bathroom.

"The water will be cold. It always is when Neelix is in charge."

"Cold water is refreshing."

"Cold water is cold."

Tom sauntered out, wrapped up to the neck in the blue terry robe that had landed in B'Elanna's quarters and, as far as he was concerned, was never going to leave it. "Exactly. Stimulating. And," he assured her in languid, low-pitched tones, "I've got a few ways to make you feel a lot warmer afterwards . . . " 

B'Elanna reconsidered. Swimming in chilly water *did* tend to have that effect upon her. And him.

"I guess I could be convinced. What other inducements are you offering?"

"Well, how about this?" Sitting on the bed next to her, Tom leaned over and breathed, "Please come with me to the resort, B'Elanna." Softly, he kissed each point of her forehead ridges and moved to kiss her eyelids, which fluttered closed as his lips approached. He treated each of her eyebrows at the very middle the same way before drifting down to the tip of her nose. After the briefest of pauses, which gave her a chance to open her eyes again, he tasted her lips, tenderly at first, then at a steadily increasing pressure. Accepting this as the invitation it was, B'Elanna's mouth welcomed him in for a quick game of Dueling Tongues before she pulled away, gasping for breath.

"Keep that up and I won't want to go anywhere," she said, laughing. Reaching out, she grabbed the tip of his robe's tie. Slowly, she tugged until the loop of the bow knot had been pulled out of existence. The robe began to gap a little around the front facings as the tension of the belt loosened.

It was his turn to laugh as he grabbed her hand to stop her, just as the robe fell off one of his broad shoulders. "I've got news for you, Chief. I need a little refreshment before going another round."

"You want to go to the resort," she sighed, resignedly.

He nodded his head. "The resort. For just a little while. Then we can come back here and warm up again . . ."

"Well, when you put it that way . . ."

She gave him a brief kiss that lingered just long enough to double as a promise before going to her wardrobe area for her bikini. Hooking the back of the top, she adjusted the straps with a couple of quick tugs to position the cups to cover her nipples completely. With the bikini bottom in her hands, however, B'Elanna dropped her towel slowly and shook her rear end provocatively, tilting one eye in Tom's direction to see the effect on him. If they didn't *need* to go to the resort for some "refreshment," why bother?

Tom wasn't paying her any attention, however. He had already slipped on the swim trunks he kept in her quarters and was pulling the second part of his bathing costume over his head.

"Oh, Tom, you're not going to go swimming with that tank top on again, are you?" B'Elanna moaned as she stepped into the lower half of the suit and pulled it up. 

"I feel more comfortable with it on. You know how . . ."

". . . how you always got so sunburned as a kid, you hated to go out on the beach without it. I know, you've told me all about it. I just don't buy it. I think it's that you don't want to expose that manly chest of yours to anybody's view."

"What? Why, that's ridiculous!"

His laughter sounded just a bit hollow to her ears, though, enough for her to reply, "Is it? I've never seen you out in public even once without a shirt, no matter what we're doing. It's not just the beach. When you play 'shirts and skins' teams in volleyball or basketball, why do you always go on the 'shirts' team? Even if you have to change sides to do it?"

"Coincidence," he said, smoothing the shirt down and tucking the hem into his trunks.

"When the environmental controls went nutty on us and Janeway gave permission for us wear casual clothes and bathing suits until it was fixed, even when we were on duty, you were the only guy who *didn't* strip to the waist."

"Hey, no telling what the reaction would have been if I'd taken off *my* shirt. I didn't want to distract anyone while you were trying to get the controls fixed."

"Hrummph. I'm a professional, and so is the rest of my staff."

"I just didn't want to take any chances."

"Yeah, well, you even walk around in your quarters with a tee-shirt on all the time, or with a robe wrapping you up so tight that it covers you right up to the neck. Who are you going to drive to distraction in there? Except me, and I trust you *want* me driven to distraction."

"Of course I do, but it gets cold in my quarters! And as it happens, you see me stripped to the waist quite often . . . in my quarters, or right here in yours . . ." He moved closer, his lips quirking as if a smirk was trying to emerge.

"That's because *I* strip you to the waist most of the time -- when I'm not stripping you stark naked, that is."

"And a fine job you do of it, too, B'Elanna."

B'Elanna tilted her gaze down so that it barely skimmed beneath her crinkled brows. After a few seconds of this intense staring, Tom was prompted to open his mouth to toss out an explanation -- any explanation at all, so he could change the subject. Before he could, B'Elanna shot out, "This doesn't have anything to do with that time Megan and Jenny Delaney were laughing at you, does it? When a bunch of us went on that picnic, back before we left Kazon space?"

He snapped his mouth closed, pursed his lips, and after a slight pause, muttered, "Why would that have anything to do with anything?"

"Ah, hah! You're answering my question with a question! You always do that when I strike too close to home. Whatever did Megan say to you that time? You threw your Hawaiian shirt back on so fast, I just barely got a chance to see your golden fuzz . . ."

"Oh, come on, B'Elanna. It was nothing. Really. I just . . . didn't like being the center of attention like that."

"Tom Paris, surrounded by a bunch of women from Engineering and Stellar Cartography, and he doesn't want to be the center of attention? Give me a break!"

"Really . . . it's not . . . one-on-one is much better for . . . B'Elanna, do you *really* want me to talk about an old girlfriend like this?"

"In this case, yes, since you haven't been honest with me about this little quirk of yours. What's the big deal?"

Tom hemmed and hawed for a bit, but finally, he confided, "I really don't appreciate having people ogle me like that. I'm sort of funny about it, I know. I'm a little . . . modest."

"Tom Paris, modest? Excuse me, but you don't really expect me to swallow that one, do you?" she started to laugh but then stopped herself, remembering his pique that time on the beach when Megan had joined in with Jenny. Tom and Megan had stopped dating not long after, in fact. His forehead was furrowed in his agitation, and she realized that Tom wasn't kidding. For some reason, he actually *was* bothered by this, and he didn't seem to want to share the reason with her. That made her feel a little miffed. She couldn't prevent some of these hurt feelings from leaking out in the irritated edge in her voice when she added, "Fine. Don't tell me, then."

"B'Elanna, don't be too upset. It's just . . . ." He broke off what he was saying, admitting, "This is so embarrassing."

"Taking off your shirt is embarrassing?"

"It's not that. Well, it is, but the reason it's embarrassing is . . . pretty embarrassing." He glanced over at B'Elanna to gauge her mood. Improving, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. Time to admit it. Sighing deeply, he said, "And yes, what Jenny and Megan were laughing at that time is part of it. Jenny was making some wisecracks about my 'pelt.' "

"Your what?"

"My pelt. My body hair. She prodded Megan into calling me a . . . oh, God, this really does frost me. Jenny and Megan called me a monkey. A 'golden monkey,' to be exact."

"Tom, that was pretty rude, but it doesn't sound all *that* terrible."

"B'Elanna, what they didn't know is that my sisters and I used to call my Uncle Hughie our 'Uncle Monkey' when we were kids. He had hair all over -- his chest, his stomach, his legs, even his back. And it was so dark, he really did have kind of a primate look about him."

"I thought all humans were primates."

"Speaking strictly biologically, yes, I guess we are, but when you're seventeen and this fuzz starts showing up all over you, after you'd been making fun of your uncle for years about his hair, the last thing you want to think about is Charles Darwin." At B'Elanna's blank stare, he added, helpfully, "You know, 'The Origin of Species'? It's a really important book . . . B'Elanna, just look it up in the data base, okay? Anyway, when my sisters realized I was getting a little furry myself, they jumped all over me. You know how sisters can be."

"Actually, no, I don't. I never had any."

"Well, be grateful, because they can make your life miserable!"

"Because they made fun of your hairy chest?"

"All the time. Among other things."

"But it's such a nice hairy chest." B'Elanna rubbed the flat of her hand lightly against the fuzziness poking up above the scooped neckline of his tank top. Perceiving Tom's slight shiver from her touch, B'Elanna pulled the tank down with one hand, exposing more of the hair where it was a bit longer and darker. She couldn't stop herself from combing the fingers of her other hand through the lustrous strands that glinted before her, admiring the silky texture.

When she started to pull down on the straps of his shirt for even greater access, however, Tom grabbed her hand to keep her from disrobing him any further or revealing the light dusting of hair on his stomach. "Now is not the time, B'Elanna."

"Why not?

"Because we're supposed to be going swimming, remember? The party at the resort?"

"Oh, right." She pulled her hands away reluctantly, but her eyes lingered. "So, Tom, are you saying you don't intend to take your shirt off tonight when we're swimming?"

"Not unless you rip it off me."

Her smile took on a distinctly predatory look as she acknowledged, "Oh, no. I kind of like knowing that no one is going to lay eyes on part of your anatomy from now on but me. And the Doctor, I suppose."

Tom chuckled lightly. "Yeah, he's got a claim there, for professional reasons only, I guess. But that's it. The Doctor and you."

"That's not the only part of your anatomy that I have exclusive rights to, Tom. Remember that."

"Don't worry, I won't forget -- any more than I'll forget the parts of your anatomy that I've got dibs on."

She smiled at him then, all traces of the sexual predator banished by the broad grin of a truly delighted woman. His B'Elanna. Just like he was her Tom. That seemed to be working out really well. No need to rock the boat.

"Shall we go to the resort, B'Elanna? The sooner we go . . ."

". . . the sooner we can get back. Oh, yeah, Flyboy. Let's go." After a light pat on the cloth covering his pecs, B'Elanna swirled around, picked up her towel from the floor, and marched smartly towards the door, her hips and bottom swaying enticingly in a view that was always very much appreciated by Tom Paris.

They didn't say much as they strolled down the corridor to the turbolift. Tom didn't know what sorts of thoughts were circulating inside his half-Klingon lover's head. For himself, he was pretty glad that his little hang-up had been exposed. It wasn't really a major one, and if he had to get over it, he knew he could, any time.

But why get over it? He knew B'Elanna very well. She had a possessive streak, courtesy of her Klingon side. Maybe it came partially from her human side, too; it was hard to tell. A lot of human females could be a little possessive. Some of them were a lot possessive. All he knew was that there was quite a bit of Tom's anatomy B'Elanna had laid exclusive claim to, and he wasn't at all unhappy about it. If this meant she wouldn't bug him again about going around in a shirt, all the better. It would make both of them happy.

He did wonder, however, about what B'Elanna was smiling about.

=/\=

B'Elanna was thinking that even though swimming in holographic water left no uncomfortable residues, there was just something about taking a shower after swimming.

A nice, warm, self-indulgent, buzzingly satisfying sonic shower. For two.

=/\=

The end

=/\= 

August, 1999


End file.
